“The white vehicle is heading toward Mercer County,” Benny said.
“The farmhouse.”
“Possibly.”
The black motorcycle returned less than a minute later, following the utility vehicle from a distance.
“No one gets close,” I said.
“I heard you.”
“Say it.”
“We stay remote.”
I ended the call before the need to move could override everything else.
Benny accessed a private camera at a gas station fifteen miles east. The utility vehicle appeared at four twenty-two, followed by the rider.
The sedan never showed.
It had continued south, carrying nothing but the expectation that Millie was still inside.
Benny sent another message.
Benny:
White vehicle turned toward eastern property.
A second image followed. The road led toward the farmhouse we had already tied to changing utility usage a
